Louisa Shorney

Chapter One

Louarn is out checking his larders. As the year falls it is time to stock for the winter lean times. Most of his inner larders have been raided for the third cycle in a row, it has cost him so much more than just a few bellies of food. There will be penance to pay, but not now, now he has to trek to the forest edge to check the outer larders. He only stocks them if absolutely necessary, that is where he lost his family to the farmer’s hot arrow maker two cycles ago. Nearing the grassland at the forest’s edge, he hears a cacophony of strange noises coming from the river where it drops down into the meadow land. Quickly donning his hunters stealth, Louarn creeps invisibly through the undergrowth, taking a wide circle around the source of the noises, until he can get a sense of their creators. Stepping downwind of the river the air is thick with an astringent scent, foulness fills his lungs and his breath starts to leave him. Quickly he back tracks until clean air fills his lungs once more. Deciding to move closer whilst keeping upwind, to see if he can discover what is causing this death breath, Louarn heads towards the farmer’s den. Just riverside of which, there is a small rise in the land before it drops down to the meadow, with enough bramble and gorse to keep from being seen. As Louarn makes for this vantage point a loud roar from a grating, gravelly throat stops him in his tracks. The ground beneath his paws trembles, then a thunderous thump and the ground shakes. Scraping, ripping sounds and a thousand high pitched shrieks fill the air. The earth feels like it is being pulled from beneath him. Terrors flow up through his paws from the ground, overloading his senses with anguish and pain. Louarn is frozen, transfixed. Every cell in his body screaming as the ground beneath him screams. The pain in his heart is unbearable as his breath is trapped, unable to release. One more moment and he will surely explode. A piercing shout from the sky above him breaks through the melee and pulls Louarn free from his stupor. As he looks up he can see Astor circling over the field beyond the rise, shouting her hawk warrior cry at the unknown beasts in the meadow below. There is no time to stop and see what monstrous creatures these are, investigating any further on his own would be too dangerous, the pain is too deep, too keen, crippling his senses, making him vulnerable. If Astor had not called when she did Louarn knows not what would have happened to him. Still shaking and deafened by the screaming ground Louarn creeps, as carefully as he can, back into the cover of the forest, making for his den deep in its heart.

Lost in thought dazed and confused by his strange experience in the meadow Louarn is not paying attention to his path. The loud hissing growl of an angry badger snaps his mind back from its wonderings. This fox and badger rarely exchange scent these days, so Broc is none to happy to find Louarn casually strolling through his set.

‘Have you no respect Vulpes?’

Broc shouts, enflamed by Louarn’s flagrant disregard of the forest treaties.

‘I shall have your throat for this insolence!’

The last thing Louarn wants right now is a fight, a fox can not easily beat a fully grown badger and Broc is a seasoned fighter, leader of his clan. But before Louarn has a chance to think his way out of this predicament Astor, once again, pulls him from danger. Her warning call from above draws Broc to a halt.

‘Call to Council! Call to Council!’

‘What madness is this, Hawk?’

Broc shouts up at the sky, then turns back to face Louarn.

‘A Council has not been called in over one hundred cycles! Is this why you see fit to trespass, Vulpes?’

‘Don’t call me Vulpes, my name is Louarn. Meles.’

Louarn spits indignantly, Broc growls back through his clenched teeth.

‘You’re lucky your blood isn’t dripping from my jaw. Fox!’

Hackles rising, Louarn bares his sharp teeth and snarls. Astor’s interruption has given him time to collect himself and gain higher ground.

‘I didn’t come to fight you Broc, but if you insist…..’

At that moment Picidae hammers on the trunk above, breaking the contest.

‘Order! Order brothers! The Council has been called. Put aside your discordance and make haste. Make haste to the Towering Fall.’

‘We are not brothers, Woodpecker! Brothers do not steal from each other. Friendship is a bond of trust, this clown has yet to master that truth.’

Broc turns with a heavy sigh and sadness in his chest. Louarn watches the old badger scuttle off into the shadows.

‘Have I misjudged Broc?’

A faint twinge of guilt twists in Louarn’s stomach but he quickly puts that down to having not eaten yet today. But right now eating has no appeal, besides, he has enough thought food to chew over.

‘Hey! Picidae my friend, do you know why this Council has been called?’

‘No brother, I do not. But you can be assured that it is of the utmost importance. There has not been a call since the elders left. No time to contemplate now brother, I must aid my kin in raising the beasts to the Fall.’

‘Before you leave brother. Have you seen or heard from Breac recently?’

‘Not today, brother but I will let him know you seek him if I do. Make haste now you have a long journey ahead.’

‘Thank you, I will. Journey well brother.’

With that Picidae flies up into the canopy and out of sight.

If only Breac were with him right now Louarn would feel so much better, he could do with his best friends incessant chatter it would bring him back down to ground. Louarn’s body is beginning to shake again, his head feels light and dizzying, the aftermath of so much shock.

‘Ok old fella, pull yourself together now. May be you do need to eat, food will ground you.’

Not feeling up to a hunt Louarn heads to his den where there is a larder close by that was unspoilt when he had left it that morning. It is a two day trot to the Towering Fall from here and he can not do that on an empty belly. Best to eat and rest then start refreshed on the morrow. Lethargy is moving in and he can not trust to his senses in this state.

*

The sudden chill in the air that signals the last breath of night is seeping into Louarn’s thick fur coat stirring him from slumber. A light tremble in the ground beneath him gently shakes him from sleep. Opening his eyes Louarn arches his neck to take a look at his surroundings whilst the rest of his body takes its time to come awake. There is a strange quality to the air and a deathly silence not usual for morning twilight. Louarn is uneasy, the hair on the back of his neck is stiffening in response to something just on the edge of his senses. He is on all paws uncertain of the best course of action when the tremble turns into a shake, then a rumble and the silence is filled with a grumbling, growl. Before he can collect himself it is upon him. Coming up over the rise behind him Louarn sees a giant jaw with sharp teeth followed by a long trunk of a neck rising higher and higher into the canopy, whilst the body it belongs to still climbs the rise. Growling and screeching the giant beast labours up the slope. Branches cracking and snapping beneath its vast weight it pays no heed to what is in its path. Having neither seen nor heard of such a creature before terror rises up inside Louarn overwhelming him. Not caring where he is going, nor daring to look behind he just runs. Runs faster than he has ever run before. Deeper and deeper into the forest. Leaping over fallen bows and stumbling rocks, scratched and gouged by whipping branches and razor sharp brambles. He keeps running, running until terror subsides and reason returns. Only then does he stop for breath and to check that he is not being pursued. No rumble can be felt nor growling heard. Louarn looks around him. He does not recognise this part of the forest. The trees are wizened and worn, all manner of lichen drip from their boughs giving them an ethereal, almost ghostly apparel.

‘How far have I run? The ground seems level here and the air feels thinner. I must have run to the ancient woods at the foot of Mother’s Bane, but how can that be? A journey that far would take a week at least.’

He usually finds talking to himself calming but his confusion and uncertainty are too consuming. Occupying himself with a water hunt to quench his mad run thirst Louarn hopes this will ease his fraying nerves. Nose to the ground, all senses focusing on the mission at hand he does not notice his mind wandering off until sometime later, as it comes back with a prickling in his whiskers. There is a change in the air. Looking up from the ground Louarn notices that he is at the edge of a clearing in the trees. He has no idea how much time and space have elapsed since his mind wandered off but as his eyes begin to focus he becomes aware of a mighty Alder standing in the centre of the clearing. The tree twists around itself so violently that some of its massive limbs have ripped under the strain and lie decomposing where they fell. New vibrant young growth sprouting up from its ragged stumps lend this old one a rather disheveled look. Rippling at its foot, held in the arms of its roots, lies a pool of clear water. Louarn cautiously walks around the clearing slowly circling inward towards the pool, all of his senses on red alert. There is a strange quality to the air and the tree beings here seem as if they are somehow not quite substantial. Feeling decidedly uneasy Louarn stops and sniffs, the fine hairs lining his nostrils comb the air as he breathes it in. Subtle signs and signals will tell him who’s travelled by here and when, what composite makes the loam, where the air has been on its way to this place and so much more. But there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. This place can not be real. Yet he can feel the ground beneath his paws and the damp chill creeping through his coat. A knot of fear begins to twist in the pit of his stomach and his hackles rise to his defence. His instincts tell him to run but blind running is how he came to be here and with no idea where ‘here’ is how can he know which way to go. Stuck between panic and logic Louarn is frozen, held in the same stupor as he was in the meadow. His body refusing to acknowledge his existence Louarn is unable to make it move and can only watch as a great white hart steps out of the woods into the clearing directly opposite him. The stag looks straight at Louarn. With colourless albino eyes holding Louarn’s transfixed the giant beast walks slowly to the pool, drops its head to the water and takes a long drink, its antlers shimmering like snow in moonglow. Louarn hears a soft and gentle voice speak in his mind.

‘Come brother fox, join me and drink from the Seers’ Pool.’

Suddenly remembering itself Louarn’s body looses its frozen grip.

‘Run!’

He screams to himself but he can not release from that gaze, he must follow the voice. Compelled by no will of his own Louarn moves towards the pool. Coming closer to the stag he sees its white coat glow with the faintest tinge of blue. Glows as if it were made of light itself. The hairs of his own coat tingle in response to the proximity of this majestic being he feels invigorated by its presence. Still caught in the mesmeric gaze of the albino eyes Louarn drops his head and obediently laps up the cool, clear water upon reaching the pool. A warm, soothing sensation floods through him, as the water hits his belly, untying the knot of anxiety and releasing his fear. Soon Louarn is awash with a calm sense of peace, yet simultaneously aware that his senses are now acutely sharpened. His eyes are even keener than before, bristling with new layers of information he can see with a clarity that goes far beyond the surface. He is aware of the individual signals coming simultaneously from each and every hair upon his body. Once again the soft and gentle voice of the hart drifts into Louarn’s mind.

‘The forest has chosen you, little fox brother, to bare this gift of sight. A time of great change is coming when life itself will stand on the brink. Your courage, your cunning and your clarity will bring strength far greater than might. Much will be sacrificed by all our brethren. So before I bid you farewell I offer you a balm for your heart. Look into the pool little brother, look into the pool.’

Finally released from those albino eyes Louarn can think of no words but his body takes a little bow of reverence before letting his gaze fall into the pool.

At first there is only mist but a scene soon becomes clear as Louarn hears the sound of young kits yapping. As clarity fully comes so does recognition.

‘Madrach? Siobhan? Is that you?’

The kits stop their tumbling play and look towards him, stilled in shocked silence. With sudden recognition they both rush forward barking with excitement.

‘Papa, papa.’

Knocking Louarn to the floor with their glee, he can feel their soft fur and their sharp little teeth play biting him. He is so overjoyed to see them that he puts all questioning logic aside.

‘Oh my littles ones, it’s so good to see you again.’

He nuzzles each one of them.

‘I thought you were lost to me. It seems like only yesterday looking at you now. Tell me how did you escape the farmer’s hot arrows?’

‘But it was only yesterday, Father. The hot arrows were stopped in their tracks by the Flim…..’

‘Madrach enough! Little brother we swore we would not speak of this.’

‘I know Siobhan but this is Father. Surely we can tell Father?’

‘We promised Madrach. That was the condition or Mother would not be allowed….’

‘Mother?’

Louarn cuts Siobhan short.

‘Is your mother here with you?’

‘Yes Father she is waiting for you.’

Her voice full of sadness, Siobhan turns to her little brother.

‘Madrach call mama now, it’s time.’

The young fox lifts his head and yaps into the wind.

‘Mama, mama. He’s here. Come, quickly.’

Mist swirls around them momentarily distorting their view, but as it dissipates Louarn sees what his eyes have longed to see for so many moons. Sionn, mother of his kits, his beautiful vixon. All he can do is let his gaze soak her in as his breath deserts him. She giggles in that sweet coquettish way of hers as she walks towards him bringing her muzzle to his. With her touch his breath returns as does the mist, clouding out the vision.

‘Sionn, Sionn, don’t go. Don’t go with out me. Sionn, please! Don’t leave.’

He howls in agony. Rapidly fading into the distance he can hear Sionn howling back.

‘Louarn, Louarn.’

*

‘Louarn, Louarn.’

Breac pecks at Louarn’s earlobe trying to break him out of sleep.

‘Louarn wake up!’

Panic tightens behind Breac’s breastplate for fear that he will not be able to reach his friend.

‘Wake up Louarn! Old friend, please wake up.’

Desperately he stabs at Louarn’s soft muzzle hoping that he can break the spell with pain.

‘Oww!’

Jumping up Louarn throws Breac to the ground before he has a chance to take flight.

‘What’s happening, what’s going on, where am I, who…..’

Still heavily dosed by sleep it takes a while for Louarn to focus, but as the scents and sounds of his environment fill his awareness he begins to find his ground.

‘Breac! My friend! Oh, it is so good to see you. So much has happened. So much I don’t understand. So much I need to share with you. How long have I been gone? What happened at the Council? How did you know where to find me?’

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down my friend. Let me find my feet. I thought I’d lost you there.’

Breac perches on a branch, at Louarn’s head hight, so that their eyes can speak more clearly.

‘Firstly, you have not missed the Council. No one has. The call only went out just before sun down. We aren’t expected for two more dawns. As for finding you, that was not difficult my friend, you are where I expected you to be. In your den.’

‘What? But…..I…..’

Words are lost in all the confusion and for a while neither friend looks for any, instead they just sit in silence allowing their minds to settle. In the stillness words return.

‘Breac you said that you thought you’d lost me. What did you mean by that?’

‘I came looking for you this morning thinking we could journey together to the Towering Fall. I could feel it in the air even before I was in sight of your den, but when I saw you Louarn I was terrified. There was a blue glow around you and you were shrouded in mist. I thought the Flimsy Folk were taking you.’

‘Oh really you can’t be serious Breac? Flimsy Folk?’ Louarn laughs scornfully. ‘They are just a tale that Mama tells to keep the younglings quite. Shame on you brother, you should know better. Flimsy Folk indeed.’

Breac puffs up his feathers to command all the stature his little magpie frame can allow.

‘Do not speak to me with such insolence Fox!’

Lowering his head and everting his gaze to show his contrition Louarn is quite overcome by his little friend’s show of authority and the shock of being addressed in such a demeaning manner. Seeing this Breac softens his stance and continues in a gentler tone.

‘There are many things that you are unaware of Louarn and many myths that keep the truth hidden in safety. All I can say is that from what I saw when I got here, you have been opened to a world that has been kept a closely guarded secret for over a thousand cycles. If you wish to survive it you will need to learn very fast. Very fast indeed my friend. I will teach you all that I know on the journey but we must go now.’

I will be releasing the next chapter each week with audio, but if you can’t wait, you can read at your own speed the story so far, just click here